


When I Fall Apart, It Will Be With All My Heart

by ishre_yann



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternative Universe - Magic Mike, Keith broke up and Lance's cure is a strip club with hot guys, Love at First Sight, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Masturbation, Past Relationship(s), fleshlight, hints at other ships - Freeform, or as i call it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 04:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15549288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishre_yann/pseuds/ishre_yann
Summary: Keith's fresh from a newly break-up and he can't get over it. Lance's idea is to get Keith back into the game with some strip-club diva god, Magic Shiro, who does his job pretty well. Maybe too well.Aka the Magic Mike AU nobody asked for.





	When I Fall Apart, It Will Be With All My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> In which we are all Hunk, the unfortunate tag-along who doesn't want to be here, but also likes to indulge his best friend and support him.
> 
> English isn't my first language, please keep that in mind. Also, I usually don't smut but hey I'll just fake-tell myself it's all self-indulgence so..........
> 
> This is the Sheithnanigans discord server's fault.

Keith vaguely remembered why he accepted Hunk and Lance’s idea. First of all, because he’d never been to one of those famous strip clubs. Secondly, Hunk and Lance did have a point; there was nothing better than healing a broken heart with some naked beefcakes dancing and grinding right in front of you—even better if they were _on_ you.

Keith had never been very good at showing off his sexuality, mainly because of his shy nature. He’d kept his private and public life very much separated, because _reasons._ Still, it wasn’t like he’d kept it a secret either. Keith wasn’t ashamed of being gay, nor to have a Grindr or a boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend.

Still, this wasn’t the point.

Tonight’s point was to be obnoxious, gay, and as drunk as possible. Hunk, Lance and Pidge had put together a few hundred bucks, together with other friends, so he could enjoy the night and get his sweaty beefcake to himself as much as he could.

Keith’s gut twisted in a wave of anxiety as he entered the strip club with Hunk and Lance. Pidge wanted to come too, of course, but they got caught up in some major inconvenience at work, which meant they wouldn’t’ve been able to join Keith and the others, not before midnight at least—and even if they could, Keith doubted Pidge would be eager to spend more hours awake. Programming and stuff was tiresome, Keith had given up as soon as he got his basics—anything he needed to understand what Pidge, Hunk, and Allura were talking about during their meetings.

Tonight was special, in a sense. Lance even let Keith borrow one of his fancy baggy pants because god forbid Keith’s boner could stay where it should—buried underneath a thick layer of jeans—and avoid him further embarrassment. A black flax shirt with a loose tie and Keith felt way better dressed than he’d ever imagined he’d be. Allura had brushed his hair back right after the shower, which now let Keith’s face way too much uncovered. Keith liked his mop, as much as it hurt to admit it was a shitty mop he couldn’t be bothered to trim; it helped him cover his face whenever he felt uncomfortable or had to keep a straight face.

Tonight, Keith felt more like a better version of himself, which felt weird and empowering at the same time. Confidence was something Keith rarely felt, especially in this type of situation. He wasn’t like Lance, he was more of a Hunk type—grateful for the stare he and Hunk exchanged when the dim lights of the strip club welcomed them. The Castle of Lions was a weird name to give to a strip club in the first place, yet Keith wasn’t there to complain.

It was still one of the best strip clubs in the whole city.

Two guys, dressed up as sexy waiters, welcomed Keith with wide smiles and a stretched-out hand, pointing him towards one of the tables. Wow, Lance really did think about everything huh? Keith fought the urge to ask Lance how fucking much this had cost, focused instead on taking a seat and _not_ stare—he was definitely not staring—at the waiter’s bulge in those lovely black boxer briefs. He fixated his eyes on the white and black tie on the man’s neck, and then on his whole greasy body—shiny almost from all the oil he’d rubbed on himself. _Fuck. Me._ Keith distantly thought to advert completely his eyes.

Lance thanked the man for him, laughing and winking all the way through.

“Relax Keith, you’re gonna get all the dancers stiff as hell,” Lance laughed taking a seat in front of him, Hunk was between them, in the very back of the table.

Keith shot a glare at Lance, before going back to the rest of the stage. It was still empty, dim blue lights that shaped its edges, so nobody would risk hitting it by accident. Keith’s table was right underneath it with a small “booked – McClain” sign on it, Lance’s surname had been handwritten on the blank space underneath it.

Keith shifted uncomfortably in his seat, even though it was a very solid, comfortable chair. Keith hoped it wasn’t what it looked like; then his brain was more than on board with it, hoping for it.

Keith wanted to slap himself until he could get the strength to just enjoy the night. This was exactly about having fun, be obnoxious, and openly drool over sexy guys.

Slowly, the rest of the tables filled with other people, the few ones who paid for their front-row seats, and the ones who just showed up and took what they could get. Keith didn’t mind too much as long as nobody tried to hit on him—and he could see, there were women too there. Someone had even a fucking tiara on their head—Keith considered rolling his eyes, but then he saw a plastic circlet with small dicks on it and-

Hunk and Lance had already followed his gaze and were now meeting Keith’s, before bursting out in a loud, barky laughter.

Nobody really paid attention to them, since at least three more groups were just yelling and laughing. “Fuck, we should’ve gotten those too,” Lance said between hiccups.

“We should ask them where they bought them,” Keith agreed.

“That’s it, I’ma ask if they got a spare one,” Lance said, standing up and walking towards the group of girls—probably some sort of hen party, Keith’s mind barely registered. He followed Lance as he leaned on the table and showed the girls his best smile.

Keith couldn’t really hear what they were talking about, but Lance got quickly invited to sit down together with them and even got a few to laugh so hard they did draw some attention. Hunk was mumbling something next to him, probably some concerned stuff on how asking for dicks-circlets wasn’t as comfortable as they’d agreed on.

“Don’t worry big guy, I ain’t gonna have you wear one of those,” Keith reassured, hand on Hunk’s shoulder in a gentle pat.

Hunk breathed again. “Oh, thank god, I thought- I thought you were gonna make me do that too and, I mean, I like you a lot buddy, don’t get me wrong—but I don’t think Shay would ever forgive me. She was super-duper okay with taking you out here, but-”

“Hunk, Shay’s the most understanding person I’ve ever met, believe me, she’s not secretly burning a doll of you and stabbing it with needles,” Keith snorted.

Hunk grimaced but shrugged nonetheless.

“What’s my name, boys?” Lance asked as he dropped back on his chair—in his hand, a dick-circlet proved Lance’s victory.

Hunk groaned, Keith gasped. “That’s our fucking Sharpshooter!” he exclaimed.

Lance winked and offered the dick-circlet at Keith. “Nailing the thread even without an actual gun, what a fucking legend huh?”

Hunk chuckled as Keith put his dick-circlet on his head, helping his hair to stay brushed backwards. Lance was already leaning in to take a selfie of the three of them, and Keith used the opportunity to let his tongue out and a childish grin.

“Yeaboiiii!” Lance let out because he was Lance and it was _impossible_ to have him go through the day without quoting at least one meme.

They chitchatted for a bit before a strong Scottish accent cut them off, together with all the lights turning off only to leave bright ones on the stage. “Boys and girls, are you ready?” a red-haired man said, he was dressed in eccentric clothes, all in the same of blue. “Tonight, you’ll get to enjoy everything you’ve always wanted to!” he continued, hands high in the air. “And maybe some more if you get chosen,” a wink and a few guys just _squeed_ and waved their hands up to the host. “Oh yeah, you know what’s up boys,” he laughed. “What about the girls, though?” he turned and received a whole new screech from the hen party table.

The host laughed, pleased. “Well, I’m Coran and I’ll be your host for the night. Which means, let’s cut to the chase and bring in our boys, what do you think?” The crowd cheered, and Coran walked towards the far side of the stage.

Names and faces rolled over, it was a total of six guys that everyone would welcome with a cheer and some yelled compliments. Until Coran stopped the list to bring the attention back to him. “The cherry on top of our cake, ladies and gentlemen,” Coran started, “I want you to give him a warm welcome since he’s been away for a few months now. Need I remind you his name?”

The crowd started chanting. “Magic Shiro! Magic Shiro!”

Keith had already drunk half bottle of wine they found on their table, had twists so deep in his gut he wasn’t sure he could handle some more hot guy on stage—the hottest one, apparently, from the crowd reaction. Keith shot a stare at Lance, who just replied with a wide grin which Keith very well knew. _You’ll see,_ it shoved in Keith’s face.

Keith swallowed hard.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for the one, and only, Magic Shiro!”

Keith almost drowned in a sip of wine when Shiro got onto the stage—big and well built, wide shoulders and bulk of ripped muscle. Keith coughed as soon as Shiro walked on the stage, beautiful and sinuous, waving at the crowd, winking left and right. Keith downed the rest of his glass when Shiro’s dark eyes focused on him, a sharp smile that did things to Keith’s insides, and winked with—maybe Keith was dreaming—intensity at Keith.

Keith barely registered Lance elbowing Hunk, proud of himself like he’d done that, specifically _that._

Shiro took place at the very front row of guys, clearly the lead element of the whole choreography, and with Keith’s realisation, he’d never once stopped staring at Keith. Keith was about to melt. Shiro was his every teenager wet dreams—tall, well-built, with sharp features and bright eyes, now filled with mischief and confidence. Shiro wore tight, low-waist leather pants which let a tough time to Keith’s imagination.

Keith downed another drink, barely registered Hunk comment—something about not drinking so much so fast. The spotlights focused on Shiro and the other guys, music rolled in with low, warm undertones and rhythmic bases. The Shiro was the first to move, hips already rolling in sinuous lines. He stepped forward, his whole body arching a few times, before dropping down and—Keith let out a low _fuck_ —humping the stage a few times, the rest of the guys settling for different poses, but the same moves. Someone tore his shirt off, had it hurling on his head and then threw it to the crowd of screeching folks.

Keith’s eyes were, though, still on Shiro’s body—especially since he was coming closer to the edge of the stage, Lance and Hunk waving in the corner of Keith’s eyes. Were they pointing at Keith?

“Yes! C’mon!” Lance cheered, patting Keith's shoulder and pushing him towards Shiro.

Keith panicked for a second, head dizzy and breath short. Fuck, how was he supposed to approach a stripper?

Shiro stepped down the stage together with the other dancers, came closer to Keith and held his hands, guided them to Shiro’s hips until Keith decided to grab them and squeeze. _Fuck fuck fuck,_ Shiro was too much.

“Hey gorgeous,” Shiro chimed, hands grabbing at Keith’s seatback, so he could sit on Keith’s lap—legs spread wide and torso arched towards Keith.

Keith held his breath, only to exhale hard and inhale Shiro’s smell—a sweaty scent—something that tasted like ginger, black pepper and sandalwood. Keith was not going to make it out sober tonight, but more importantly, Keith’s dick wasn’t going to make it without a jerk-off session in his own bed tonight.

When Keith didn’t move, Shiro chuckled—low and deep—before rocking his hips at the music rhythm. “Got something for me?” he gurgled with a wicked smile.

Keith almost tripped—how _the fuck_ did one trip on a chair, Keith didn’t know—as he stumbled to reach for his pocket and draw some dollars out. He held it close to Shiro’s pants, hesitation kicking in. “Uh,” _c’mon, get it together,_ “Where- where?”

_Way to go, Kogane._

Shiro laughed, let go of the seatback only to inch closer with his hips until he was right on Keith’s crotch—and Keith was more than aware of his dick, half-erect, being teased through the clothes. Shiro used the stage to arch his torso back, hips rocking as a big, giant arrow pointed on Shiro’s waist. “Take a guess, gorgeous,” Shiro exhaled, winking at Keith and sending waves of different degrees of hot through Keith.

Keith hurried and slipped the dollars inside of Shiro’s pants, almost choked on his own saliva when he felt the ripped muscles of his groin—smooth and hot.

Shiro thanked him by raising a leg, showing Keith how higher up it could stretch, and then turned—only to sit back in his lap. Keith swallowed hard, and his lungs decided to go take a vacation, giving Keith a hard time breathing through it all. Shiro gave Keith a good look at his back, showed him how it arched nicely and perfectly, how Shiro’s ass was solid muscle on Keith’s lap.

Shiro twerked, and Keith lost it as soon as he realised Shiro’s bubble butt was more capable than what it already looked like. Shiro kept stroking Keith’s dick through the fabric of his pants, although it wasn’t enough to actually stimulate a reaction, Keith _knew_ Shiro knew he was hard. Especially when Shiro looked so inviting like he was asking Keith to come between his cheeks.

Shiro raised his ass higher and higher, encouraged Keith to take a handful with his fists and Keith swore a part of him died deep inside of him, only to be reborn when he felt Shiro’s muscles and skin with his hands.

“Fuck,” Keith whispered to himself, bewitched.

Shiro faced Keith once more until he was standing right in front of Keith, Keith’s legs between Shiro’s, and Shiro— _fucking hell,_ Shiro who still managed to make it look like the most natural thing ever.

Keith held his breath as Shiro’s crotch got _this_ close to his face, as Shiro grabbed Keith’s head with his big, rough hands and held it tight, as Shiro started rocking his hips right in front of Keith—never touching him, not even by mistake. Keith fought the urge to open his mouth and let his tongue out as Shiro humped— _dry_ _humped—_ him like he was face-fucking Keith at the rhythm of some song’s remix Keith didn’t know, and honestly didn’t really care.

This time, Keith managed to grab Shiro’s hips without his guidance—noticed Shiro’s smirk, lips parted and short breaths. Shiro’s body was pure muscle—Keith got a handful of his strong thighs, touched up until he could feel the curve of Shiro’s ass. He knew others were already touching like it was nobody’s business, but Keith still felt a sting of shyness when it came to him. He couldn’t just touch without Shiro’s permission, and as far as Keith knew, what made Keith uncomfortable wasn’t on the plate tonight.

Lucky for Keith, Shiro had to be a fucking mind reader, because he laughed and stopped to put his hands on Keith’s, guide them right on his ass and squeeze. Keith lost his breath to that, and because Shiro then sat down on Keith—body heat and sweat so close Keith almost thought he was naked too.

Keith choked a scream when Shiro pushed the chair back but prevented it to fall completely.

In a matter of seconds, Keith was lying on the floor and Shiro was on him, body arching and then relaxing like he was riding Keith—and this time Keith felt more than only Shiro’s dick. It was Shiro’s abs and thighs tight around him.

“Oh god,” Keith let out weakly, eyes shooting at Hunk and Lance, only to find them peaking over the table, rooting for him like it was some sort of competition. Hunk was as red as he could get, as per Lance… Well, Lance was Lance—and anything sexual was something to be proud of.

Keith’s cheeks flushed red instantly when Shiro took his chin and had Keith focus back on him with a gentle tug.

Shiro was smiling at him, soft and understanding, but it was short-lived—a wicked grin as soon as Keith swallowed hard and. His sharp jawline had Keith wonder, as well as his arms. Shiro lifted Keith like it was no big of a deal. Keith squirmed internally when Shiro spread his legs to make space for himself, and then made his way between Keith’s legs—mouth close enough that Keith could feel Shiro’s hot breath through the fabric, could picture in every detail what Shiro would’ve done to him if they weren’t in a strip club. Shiro worked his way up Keith’s abs, hands moving cloth and then putting it back where they found it, building up tension and frustration, but also chills and confusion—and Keith was _so_ okay with it. Until Shiro popped into Keith’s vision again, danced as he fake-fucked Keith at the rhythm, never touching enough, never closing in enough.

It was torture—the best kind of torture.

Keith almost didn’t realise he was back on his chair and sitting down when Shiro stepped away and kneeled—money raining on him as Lance basically took care of what _Keith_ should’ve done since the whole thing started.

Keith got away with a few bucks he could stuff into Shiro’s slips.

“Thanks, gorgeous,” Shiro chimed with a wink when the music stopped. He got up for the last time and bowed, together with the rest of the dancers.

“No problem,” Keith let out—still dumbstruck. Keith followed him with wide eyes and mouth still open, until Shiro disappeared backstage.

Lance put a hand under Keith’s chin, lifting it up and helping Keith closing his mouth. “I take it you’ve had fun, huh?” he laughed.

Keith blushed hard this time, hands hiding his mouth, eyes darting at Lance.

Lance laughed harder.

“Fuck me, what the actual fuck was that?” Keith was fairly sure he just had an extracorporeal experience. No way he just actually did _that._

“That was the best of the house, baby!” Lance gushed.

Hunk let out a short breath. “That guy could be competition to anyone’s boyfriend or girlfriend in this room,” he whispered.

Lance lit up altogether, mouth shaping a small O. He jumped in his seat. “I’m telling Shay! Holy shit! She is _so_ hearing this!!”

Keith tuned them out, because of course Hunk would freak out, and Lance would only feed off it to fluster Hunk even more to have a good laugh—and then probably reassure him he could never do something like this to Hunk.

Keith stared at the heavy black curtains that hid the rest of the stage, wondered what Shiro was doing in the fitting room. Was he putting on another costume? Maybe preparing to go home? Would Keith see him again? Was he thinking about how stupid Keith had looked? How bewitched Shiro had him the second he got close?

Keith must’ve looked desperate. Which… wasn’t wrong. He was desperate for a change, for something different than the same heavy weight on his chest.

Shiro came back that night for two more shows, but he was fast gotten by other tables—everyone wanted a piece of his performance, apparently, and Shiro did have a job to keep. Still, Keith wasn’t sure if he was just imagining Shiro’s eyes on him, every now and then, when he was humping someone’s mouth and could look in Keith’s direction without his guests noticing.

* * *

Keith’s night passed faster than expected, and now he was on an Uber to his house. He’d drunk more than he could afford, and yet he didn’t feel guilty for spending so much money. His whole body felt dizzy and light—only after he’d thrown up in the nearest alley while waiting for the Uber driver to arrive.

Hunk had preferred to keep Lance company, make sure he made it home—since it was Lance who emptied one bottle of Tequila, taking shots and other stupid drinking games.

Keith? Keith knew how to hold his liquor, but it still made it difficult for him to hold that much.

His apartment was dark and quiet when he dropped his keys and decided to just say “Fuck it,” he’ll get them tomorrow.

Keith barely remembered to have taken off his clothes before dropping on his bed, heavy and tired. Shiro’s performance still etched in his mind like it only happened two seconds before. Keith held his breath, fingers feeling through the fabric of his underwear. He was half-hard, still wanting, still _needing._

His skin still crawled where Shiro toughed, goosebumps and short breaths.

Keith stroked his length slowly, tested the reaction as he imagined Shiro’s ass on him, the way he could’ve squeezed Keith’s dick between his cheeks and just have him come like that on Shiro’s back.

“Fuck.”

Keith’s breath hitched, he circled his erection through the fabric, felt it twitch and grow in his own hand as soon as he swept upwards with increasing pressure. A low, deep moan escaped Keith’s mouth. He closed his eyes, and Shiro was still there—face-fucking him.

Keith’s imagination wandered—how it would’ve been to have Shiro’s dick down his throat. How sweet to get his airways blocked and choke on Shiro, using it to make Shiro whine and plead Keith.

Would Shiro scream? Would he growl? Beg?

Keith wanted to know so bad.

Was he a screamer? Would Keith have needed to tear it from Shiro? Work him open and frustrated until he couldn’t take it anymore, calling Keith’s name like it was both a curse and a prayer?

“Fuck- _fuck.”_ Keith slipped his hand underneath the fabric, found a rhythm similar to the one Shiro moved. He grasped harder at the base until it hurt, blocked any premature leak, and then released the pressure. Another moan, something pained and relieved.

When Keith opened his eyes, tried to move his head, his whole room spun around him. Keith forced his eyes closed and let out a groan, plopped back in his pillow, grasping hard at its end with his free hand. His legs cramped up, but he barely registered—curled up on his side, he was _so_ about to make a mess on his new sheets.

Yet, he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to.

His mind hurled him back at Shiro’s memory, strong thighs around Keith’s waist, holding him steady as Shiro rode Keith. Keith swore under his breath—turned on his back and planted the heels of his feet on the mattress. His free hand blindly opened the nightstand’s drawer, and then inside. He got out some lube, and then his fleshlight.

Keith got rid of his underwear, kicked it down the bed so he could spread his legs and be as comfortable as he could. The lube was cold on his dick, made it hard to concentrate, but he quickly took himself in his hand and stroked his length.

In his mind, Shiro was right over him, waiting for him to be ready—to go down on him, or let Keith fuck him like this. The fleshlight wasn’t as warm as Keith’s thoughts wanted Shiro’s hole to be, but it was still enough. Keith grabbed at the fleshlight and held it still as best as he could, before he could push inside of it, kept it tight, warming it up with every second.

It didn’t last. Keith didn’t last—he was too fucked up to last anything but a few minutes.

He came with a sharp sound—something that sounded too much like Shiro’s name. Come poured on his own hands and abdomen, fucking the fleshlight like he would’ve fucked Shiro, wearing his orgasm down and pushing through it until he had to stop—overstimulated and tired.

Worn out and undone, Keith used his hands to clean up as best as he could—but didn’t go much far. Soon, tiredness came rushing with heaviness in his limbs. He wanted to take a shower, wanted to do many things, but eventually only did one.

He sighed, fleshlight forgotten somewhere on the side of his bed, and hugged his pillow like it was Shiro’s back. Like he wasn’t desperately in need to feel someone in his own bed back again. Like Shiro hadn’t drilled a hole in his chest with only a few glances and a whole lot of touches.

This was stupid—Keith was stupid.

He still dreamed of Shiro in the night.

**Author's Note:**

> OOF, tysm for reading!!
> 
> As always, I've got a [Tumblr](http://hikku.tumblr.com) and am driven by spite or comments - please do feel free to share your thoughts on this one. I'm continuing it, cuz the boys must meet up, but I'm open to ideas!!


End file.
